A Safe Harbor In The Storm
by Eva3
Summary: Alone at last!!!


This "little piece of fluff" takes place sometime after Quality of Mercy and before The Outlaw, and is meant to satisfy all R&M shippers with that bit of domesticity that is usually missing from our weekly episodes.  
  
I want to thank CalGal for previewing it for typos and punctuation errors. Thanks CalGal for your suggestions, they are always welcome.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A SAFE HARBOR IN THE STORM  
  
BY EVA  
  
  
It was a rare occasion when Roxton and Marguerite were left alone in the treehouse, but this morning Challenger, Ned and Veronica set off at first light to the Zanga village. Assai was due to deliver her first child any day, and Veronica wanted to be with her friend for this joyous event. Challenger felt he might be of assistance in case of complications, and Ned...well Ned just liked being close to Veronica no matter what the reason.  
  
Roxton, always the self-appointed protector, rose early as usual to make sure the small party had everything they needed for their short trek and to wish them a safe trip. Marguerite, always the late sleeper, stumbled sleepily out of her room long after the others had departed for their visit to the Zanga village.  
  
John was tidying up the kitchen area as she strolled slowly to the table and sat down dispiritedly. "Can a girl still get a hot cup of tea, or is the kitchen closed for the morning?"  
  
Roxton leaned across the table to meet her sleepy eyes with his bright wide-open ones and said, "Well, if a certain girl would learn how to go to bed earlier, she might get to have tea with her friends instead of having to drink alone."  
  
"Don't start with me this morning, Roxton. I didn't sleep well," she whined, hoping beyond hope that she could provoke a little sympathy from this handsome and powerful man who always goaded her about her sleep habits.  
  
John stood up and began pouring a cup of tea for the woman he had lately come to feel so responsible for making happy. After living in such close quarters with her for over a year, he had come to know all those small daily rituals that would bring her comfort. Right now a hot cup of tea seemed the perfect solution.  
  
"What was it this time? Frogs too loud, crickets too shrill? Too many sounds of wild animals in the jungle?" he teased. One look at her face, and he knew it was none of the above. His voice softened with, "Oh, sorry. Bad dreams again?"  
  
Marguerite nodded, pushing back a few stray hair strands from her face as she began to drink the tea just poured for her. "Ow!!" She clapped the cup back to the saucer with a face that meant one thing, she had just burned her tongue on the hot tea. "You might have told me it was hot!"  
  
"Marguerite, everything's not my fault, you know. You should have let it cool down."  
  
"And, everything's not my fault, either." She pushed away from the table and stomped off to the balcony, throwing her tired body into the reclining chair.  
  
Roxton sighed, mostly from weariness of not being able to please her this morning, but also because he knew she'd been having bad dreams off and on during their stay on the plateau. He'd heard her moving about restlessly throughout the treehouse on many a night, so he had a feeling he knew why she hadn't slept well last night.  
  
He picked up the half-spilled cup of tea and carried it out to the balcony, hoping he could do or say something to bring a smile to that lovely face. It seemed of all the treehouse residents, he was the one who usually managed to bring her around to an amenable mood, not an easy task all things considered.  
  
As he placed the cup on the table beside her chair, she looked up with disdain and asked, "Is it still hot?"  
  
"Of course, it's still hot. But it'll cool down faster out here." There was a strong breeze blowing across the balcony as he sat down in the chair next to her. He had to tell himself to resist the temptation to caress the strands of hair that kept escaping across her face as wave after wave of cool air drifted over them. "Feels good doesn't it?" he said finally, breaking the silence.  
  
"Mmmmm. Feels like it's going to rain. It was stuffy in my room last night. Maybe that's why I didn't sleep well."  
  
"Marguerite, you don't have to pretend with me. I've heard you waking up in the middle of the night many times. It always sounds like something's scaring you. Is it anything you want to talk about?"  
  
The soft mood suddenly changed as Marguerite snapped, "You're overstepping your boundaries now, John. There's nothing I want to talk about, not with you or anyone else." She stood up suddenly and quickly walked back to her room, and to the privacy she so desparately needed this morning.  
  
******  
  
Roxton went about his morning chores with the same enthusiasm he displayed for everything he undertook, while Marguerite stayed in her room most of the morning. Around lunchtime, while bringing in a load of firewood for the stove, he noticed she still hadn't emerged from her room.  
  
His first impulse was to accuse her of laziness as usual, but then he thought again when he remembered the dark circles under her eyes this morning. 'Better to let her have a second try at sleeping than antagonize her any further.'  
  
He had just finished the last bite of the dried raptor meat he had decided on for lunch when Marguerite sauntered into the room, looking somewhat better than she had earlier that morning.  
  
"Did you get any sleep this time?" asked Roxton.  
  
"Some," she yawned. "What's for lunch?"  
  
"Marguerite, this isn't an all-day restaurant, you know," he chided, pushing a plate of the remaining dried raptor meat across the table. "Besides, as much as I would like nothing more than to sit here with you basking in this charming scene of domesticity, there are chores to be done while everyone's gone. Let's see...what tasks did Veronica write down beside your name on the list."  
  
"Chores?!" she cried, chomping down on the makeshift lunch. "I thought there would be less chores with everyone away. You know, less people, less messes to clean up."   
  
"Ah, here it is....Marguerite - Maintenance Duty."  
  
"You can't be serious. Let me see that," she said snatching the list from his hands.  
  
He leaned over her shoulder, pointing to the words, "See...right here...Marguerite - Maintenance Duty For The Week." He stood up triumphantly and leaned his head back to see her face more clearly.  
  
"So, just what does this involve, this maintenance duty for the week," she replied sarcastically.  
  
"Well, let's see. You have to check the perimeter of the electric fence for breaks in the wiring The cords on the elevator have to be checked and make sure the winches are oiled properly. Then, you need to sharpen all the axes, clean and oil all the weapons, then..."  
  
"Wait a minute. Just what's on the list for you?" she demanded.  
  
"Me? I have kitchen duty this week. Keep a fire in the stove, fix the meals, wash the dishes."  
  
"Isn't there something wrong with this picture? I mean, you are supposed to be the 'man of the house' aren't you? Shouldn't you be doing all the heavy work and I could...."  
  
"Now, Margurerite. We share everything here on the plateau, just like we're a family."  
  
"Hmmph! Family! I wouldn't know anything about that. Never belonged to one," she said. "Frankly, I think families are highly overrated," she added defensively.  
  
"Oh, come now, Marguerite. You don't mean that. Are you telling me that after all this time here on the plateau, you still don't feel like you belong?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them.   
  
Her face clouded over as she said, "I've never felt like I belonged anywhere, Roxton. I really don't want to talk with you about this. Just tell me where I start with these 'maintenance duties and let me get on with them."  
  
He threw her some oily rags and an oil can, which she held at a distance from her body with two fingers, eyeing them disgustedly as though she had just been tossed his dirty laundry.  
  
Relieved to change the one subject where he knew she was most vulnerable, he said, "I would think the elevator's as good a place to start as any. When you finish with that, since your hands will be oily anyway, you could start with the guns and after that..."  
  
"You just love this part of your life, don't you?" she bantered.   
  
"What part is that, Marguerite?"  
  
"The part where you make my life miserable." She stood up and trudged toward the elevator to start the first of her numerous maintenance tasks of the day.  
  
Roxton smiled lovingly at the sight of her struggling to reach the upppermost parts of the elevator cords at the joining of the winches, mostly because he was finally getting her do some work around the treehouse. But also, because of the way the curves of her body were made more apparent by her standing on her toes and twisting to reach the elevator winches.   
  
He thought about helping her, then decided against it. 'She needs a little hard work over the next couple of days. Helps build character.' Although, he knew she already possessed enough character to pull him through some of the darker days he had experienced since they arrived on the plateau. She had been there to bandage up his cuts and burns after his debacle with Danielle and her zombies. She would have been within every right to abandon him to his own resources in payment for the hurt he had caused her. But once again she had proved how loyal she could be in a crisis. Sometimes, he doubted whether she would ever forget, but he knew she had managed to forgive him for his mistake.   
  
After finishing with the elevator, no easy task for woman of her height, Marguerite threw herself into a chair at the table and was shocked to see that Roxton had laid out all the guns in the treehouse, ready for their weekly cleaning and oiling. 'He doesn't honestly expect me to clean all of these at one time, does he?' she thought. 'This will take hours.'  
  
She sighed and reached for Roxton's pearl handled pistols and began dismantling them to be oiled and cleaned. Half way through the task, she began having visions of Roxton firing his precious pistols in rapid succession and how much pleasure it gave him. A smile spread across her face and her eyes drifted off into a dreamy expression as she remembered the sight of him firing them that day in Pakim's village, when she was about to be fed to that hideous man-eating plant. She had to admit, if only to herself, how...what word came to mind before all others...how sexy this incredibly handsome man could be when using his pistols.  
  
'Snap out of it!' she thought. 'If he knew what I was thinking, he'd be insufferable to live with.' No one had an ego larger than John Roxton, that was the one thing she was sure of, if nothing else.  
  
*****  
  
By the time she had finished putting the last gun back together, darkness was descending around the treehouse and she heard Roxton coming up in the elevator.   
  
Looking at his wet hair, she said accusingly, "Where have you been, swimming?" Then she spied the dead bird slung over his shoulder and her eyes widened as she clapped her hands. "Dinner! Only one, Roxton? Is your hunting prowess slipping?" she said teasingly.  
  
"No, it's starting to rain. We may be in for a storm tonight." He saw a flash of fear in her eyes, something she rarely showed. "I'll check the flaps on the windows to make sure they're tied down tightly. Here," he slung the dead bird on the table, "you start dressing this for our dinner."   
  
"I don't think this comes under the heading of maintenance, Roxton."  
  
"I kill 'em, you cook 'em," he said, grinning and turning away with a wink.  
  
"I thought you had kitchen duty this week," she shouted after his retreating back.  
  
Talking to herself, she said "Why do I always get the messy jobs around here."  
  
The wind was blowing harder outside the treehouse now and thunder could be heard in the far distance. Marguerite shuddered everytime she heard the sound. She knew it was still far enough away not to pose any real danger to the treehouse, but she still hated the rumbling that followed each flash of lightening.   
  
She was glad then when Roxton returned to the kitchen, and to her fumblings with the dressing of the bird.  
  
"Is this all you've done?" He pulled her away from the table and said, "Here, I'll finish this. You go wash up for dinner and then you can set the table."  
  
"I do feel dirty, and worn out! thanks to my 'maintenance duty."  
  
Roxton chuckled to himself as she left the kitchen and descended the steps to her room.   
  
*****  
  
An hour later, as he set their dinner on the table, he began to worry about the fact she had not returned to help him. He called out in the direction of her room, "Marguerite! Dinner's ready."   
  
Receiving no answer, he descended the steps saying, "Marguerite, you were supposed to...". He stopped when he saw Marguerite stretched horizontally across her bed sleeping soundly, washcloth in one hand and soap in the other. He sighed and walked softly down the stairs, quietly approaching the bed. He smiled and shook his head, leaning over to take the cloth and soap from her oily hands and place them on the bedside table. He then gently put one arm under her neck and the other under her waist sliding her sleeping body up to the top of the bed, placing her head on her pillow.   
  
Still moving quietly, he wet the cloth in the basin of water on the dresser and began dabbing at the oily marks on her face. She barely stirred while he wiped the grime from her hands. When he was satisfied with the image of her clean face and hands, he moved to the foot of the bed and began removing her boots to make her more uncomfortable.   
  
When the last boot was off, a loud clap of thunder woke Marguerite with a start. Only then did she realize Roxton was in the room with her.   
  
"Roxton, I'm sorry....I forgot about dinner....I was so....", she started sleepily.  
  
"Sh-sh, don't worry about that. Dinner will keep. You need your sleep more. You've had a very busy day."  
  
"No thanks to.....". Another clap of thunder crashed outside the treehouse and Marguerite clutched Roxton's arm, pulling him down beside her on the bed.  
  
"Marguerite, you're shaking...what's wrong?   
  
"I hate loud noises. They-they scare me," she whispered against his neck.  
  
"The great, brave, fearless Marguerite Krux - scared?" he chuckled.  
  
"Don't make fun of me. N-n-not tonight," she stammered in panic.  
  
"I'm not making fun of you," he murmured into her hair. "I've just never seen you scared before."  
  
"Well, I've...I've been scared plenty of times since we've been here on the plateau."  
  
"Then you're a very good actress, because I never would have known it. Are you sure it's just the thunder?" He held her close while rubbing her back to comfort her.   
  
"It just seems as though I always have bad dreams when it storms. Will you stay with me for a while?" Marguerite whispered.  
  
Roxton was only too happy to oblige her request, even though he realized there was no hint of anything in her voice except that of fear. He stretched out on the narrow bed beside her and wrapped his arms about her shoulders.  
  
"You know for a while after we came to the plateau, I used to have nightmares too about my brother. I relived the whole thing over and over again. And, then they gradually went away. You're not the only one who's experienced this, Marguerite."  
  
"Why did they stop?" She pulled away to look into his face.  
  
"Because I realized there were more pressing matters that needed my attention."   
  
Marguerite looked puzzled and shook her head. "I don't understand."  
  
"I realized I had to keep my wits about me to keep this expedition safe, and in particular one person, one very stubborn, young heiress who needed my protection." He looked down at her lovely face and smiled. "Those nightmares were replaced by other dreams," he said nuzzling her neck, "sweet dreams that maybe someday you'd..."  
  
She pushed him away saying, "Oh Roxton, maybe asking you to stay wasn't such a good idea. I don't know if I'm ready to..."  
  
"You're probably right." As he began to rise from the bed, another clap of thunder crashed in the jungle sky above the treehouse.  
  
Marguerite grabbed his arm again, and cried, "Wait, don't go."  
  
"Sh-sh." He pulled her back to his side. "Marguerite, nothing will happen unless you want it to. You have my word on that. You're scared and you shouldn't be alone." She relaxed again inside his arms. Maybe you should talk about this dream you keep having. Sometimes it helps to at least talk about it."  
  
"You won't tell the others, will you?"  
  
"It'll be just between us, I promise."  
  
"It always starts out the same," she began nervously. "I'm in a strange city, somewhere I've never been before. But I have this feeling that it's where I'm supposed to be, you know where I belong. Everything feels okay for awhile, then suddenly I realize I'm lost. I don't where I am and I'm terrified. I keep going down street after street. And, I don't know where I am. Then I see a church in the distance. It's the church that was part of the convent school where my parents left me. It's a tall building, spirals going high into the sky, so I can see it no matter where I am in the city. I feel if I can get to the church, I'll be okay. But I can't get there. No matter how far I run, I can't get there. I can't get to safety. And, I'm so lost."  
  
Roxton held her tighter when he felt her body start shaking again, not from the fear of the thunder this time, but mostly from fighting back tears.  
  
"There is another part to it," she continued. "I have this feeling that I've lost someone, someone who's supposed to be there with me. I don't who it is, but I've lost them." He could feel her shaking everytime the thunder clapped across the sky outside the safety of the treehouse.  
  
"Sh-sh-sh, it's okay, it's going to be okay."  
  
"Don't tell the others. Please don't tell the others," she pleaded.  
  
"I won't, I promise. It's our secret. You'll feel better in the morning when the storm is over. Try to get some sleep now."  
  
Some hours later when the storm had ceased, Roxton was awakened by Marguerite's soft crying and her clutching at his shirt, as though she were trying to hold on to something. He could tell by the frown on her sleeping face she must be experiencing her dream again. He took her small slim hand in his large calloused one and laced his fingers through hers, gripping them tightly. Almost instantly her cries stopped and her body relaxed against his, as though she had found what she had been searching for in her dream. Even her breathing became more rythmic and easy, and he could tell she was sleeping peacefully at last.   
  
*****  
  
Roxton awoke at his usual time, just before the sun broke through the windows in the treehouse that had become home to the weary explorers for almost two years now. He sat up, realizing he was alone in the bed he had shared with Marguerite the night before. When he heard someone moving about upstairs in the kitchen, he quickly threw his long legs over the side of the bed. 'Were the others back so soon,' he thought. 'They weren't due back for a few days. This won't look good, my coming out of Marguerite's room. I doubt she'll want anyone to know I spent the night in her room, no matter how innocent the reason.'  
  
When he walked nervously into the kitchen buttoning his shirt and tugging the braces up over his shoulders, he couldn't contain the surprise on his face when he recognized the beautiful woman busily setting the table for two as Marguerite.   
  
"You're up early. You sure you're feeling all right." He crossed the room to hold the back of his hand to her forehead in a mock effort to check her temperature.  
  
"Very funny, Roxton," she retorted. "Can't a girl get up a little earlier without all this fanfare?"  
  
"So how'd you sleep last night?" he said coyly trying to make eye contact with her.  
  
"Like a baby," she crooned, pouring him a cup of double brewed tea.  
  
"Well, maybe I should sleep in your room more often," he grinned broadly, causing his eyes to crinkle.  
  
She leaned over the table and met his beaming eyes with her own and drawled, "I wouldn't hold my breath on that one, Roxton. But I do thank you for getting me through last night's storm."  
  
"Did you have any more bad dreams?"  
  
"You know it's funny," she said thoughfully, "I did have the dream again. But this time, just when I got the feeling I was lost, someone took my hand and held it. That's never happened before. It was a nice feeling...like everything would be okay. I didn't have to be scared anymore...you know like I wasn't alone anymore."  
  
Roxton reached across the table and took her hand in his and held it. Marguerite clutched his hand back, and the same feeling from her dream that morning seeped through her body once again.  
  
"Maybe I haven't said this before, but you never have to alone again, Marguerite. You belong to this group as much as anyone."  
  
As tears began forming in Marguerite's eyes, Roxton said suddenly, "Come here, there's something I want you to see."   
  
He pulled her to the balcony just as the sun was breaking through the clouds drifting across the sky. The storm from the night before had passed quickly across the plateau, leaving the landscape clean and dewy fresh with a mist floating across the tops of the trees. The sun finally came into full view through the mist and clouds, casting a warm sunny glow over the balcony and the two people standing there.   
  
Basking in the magnificent vista before her, Marguerite leaned her back against Roxton's chest and he surrounded her with both arms holding her tightly. A fresh breeze wafted across the balcony causing stray tendrils of Marguerite's hair to drift upward to Roxton's face. He leaned in to kiss her cheek and her hair and she said with awe in her voice, "Is this what I've been missing every morning?"  
  
"Oh, my dear, you've been missing a lot more than that, but I have a feeling that's all going to change very soon."  
  
The End 


End file.
